


Two Mugs, One Plate

by 74days



Series: Meet-Cute AU's [38]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/M, First Meetings, Incubus Bucky, M/M, Magical Realism, Meet-Cute, Pixie Tony, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Skinny Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 03:30:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3921295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/74days/pseuds/74days
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being an Incubus wasn't exactly weird when you spent most of your free time in a crappy coffee shop owned by the grumpiest Pixie in New York, so Bucky felt like he fit right in.<br/>He'd even managed to mould the lumpy couch into something comfortable, so it wasn't too bad.<br/>Until he walked in one day to find someone in his spot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Mugs, One Plate

Bucky woke up with a headache. He wasn’t surprised. Things that always seemed to be a good idea at 2am on a Friday rarely looked the same at 8am, after a broken, unsatisfying sleep. His bed had a weird, nose twitching smell of sulphur and sage – transferred from his skin no doubt, and when he kicked the sheets off his body, he sneezed at the movement of air.

A shower didn’t help much, not even with the frankly decadent body wash that Natasha had made for him, purified rainwater, lemons and ginger, fused with a few ‘secret’ herbs that she swore by. Normally, the smell alone would perk him up, get him feeling more human, or at least as human as **_he_** could get. It didn’t work, after his shower he felt no less like death – although he did smell fucking amazing.

The sulphur and sage sheets were pulled from the bed, thrown in the laundry pile and dumped in the bathroom. He’d have to hand wash them, his neighbours wouldn’t thank him for stinking out the communal washers in the basement. Later though – right now what he needed was coffee stronger than anything he could brew.

* * *

 

The streets were always busy, New York in any season, but summer was worse. The lingering sent of garbage and the mix of people, oils and herbs was an assault on the nose, and Bucky sneezed again before he managed to block it out. Luckily, his body wash created an almost blissful bubble around him; people who brushed past him paused for a microsecond, taking a deep breath, walking on with a smile. It was weird that Natasha, who grinned like a fucking shark, could make something that could bring a little bit of sunshine to almost everyone. Soul magic was like that though, the deepest part of yourself revealed.

There was a coffee shop run by a Pixie and his girlfriend a few blocks away from his apartment, and Bucky went there at least once a day. A lot of people didn’t like it, the coffee was like tar and the service wasn’t the best, but Bucky loved the dimly lit shop, with its lumpy couches and sticky tables.

There wasn’t a bell over the door, because Tony didn’t care if someone came in or not, and it was only the slam of it behind him that caused the Pixie to look up.

“Mornin’.” He grunted, grabbing the first mismatched plate and adding three slices of the banana and toffee loaf that was under a little plastic dome. “Got a pot of coffee?”

“Probably.” Tony, the owner, shrugged – waving a hand at the counter. “Help yourself.”

Knowing that the only way to actually **_get_** his coffee would be to get it himself, Bucky lifted up the partition and started fixing up a pot. “Where’s Pep?” He asked, looking around. Normally she could be counted on to serve people, and on a good day, could even get Tony to do some work too.

“Some job came up.” Tony grunted, not even lifting his head from whatever he was tinkering with. “Left about an hour ago with Happy.”

Bucky nodded, filling up his pot from the machine with an easy familiarity.

“What about you, hmm? Been listening to the ‘children of the night’ again?”

“That’s vampires, Tony.” Bucky said, grabbing a mug from under the counter. None of the mugs matched, and three of them were stolen from Starbucks. “Not a vampire.”

“Debateable.”

“It’s really not.”

“Whatever. Go away. You smell like sunshine and I don’t like it.”

Bucky snorted, pulling out a couple of notes and putting them on the till before stepping out from behind the counter, balancing his plate, mug and pot of coffee carefully. “I’m sure she’ll be back soon, Tony.” He said, making his way over to the little nook he’d made his own.

Over the years he’d managed to get the lumps in the couch to conform to his body shape, so he could sink a good few inches into the old leather without getting a spring in his spine or some weird shaped wedge of padding pushing against his shoulder blades – he’d even managed to find an old throw pillow that didn’t smell too bad that he could tuck under his legs and fall asleep if he needed.

Habit meant that he was already putting his pot of coffee on the table when he realised that his space was already occupied. A tiny blond wearing headphones bigger than his head was snoozing on Buckys couch. Using Bucky’s pillow to lean against, squashing it out of the perfect shape Bucky had spent the better part of a year moulding.

“What the fuck?” He managed, and heard Tony grunt from behind him.

“He’s been there all morning.” He said, “Can you sniff him to see if he’s dead?”

“I’m not a fucking werewolf.”

“Scream?”

“That’s Banshees.” He shot back, before kicking the sleeping figure. “You’re in my spot.”

A pair of brilliant blue eyes snapped open, and for a moment, Bucky thought maybe he was looking at a Wraith, and he’d just kicked it, but when the man owlishly blinked a few times before pulling off his headphones, Bucky figured that he was safe.

“Huh?”

“I said; you’re in my spot.”

The blond man looked around. There were plenty of other places for Bucky to sit, and Bucky knew he was being weird, but… he liked his spot. He’d sat in his spot every day, for years. “I was here first.”

“Move, kid.” Tony called out, “It’s not worth him ripping off both your arms if he loses.”

It took a second. “Tony, for fuck sake, that’s  _Wookies_  – it’s not even a thing!”

The blond was looking over at Tony like he was going to argue, jaw sliding forward into a mulish expression that Bucky didn’t need to find attractive at all, because damnit, it was  ** _too fucking early_**. It was, though. Attractive. Very much so.

“Look, kid, this is my spot. I’ve sat in that spot every day for two years. I don’t give a shit about who you are, or what you do. I just wanna eat this cake, drink this coffee, and try to forget that Tony is even in the room.”

“Screw you, Twilight.” The man in question said, making the smaller man in Buckys spot grin a little. He had a nice grin, and it was  ** _too fucking early_**  for Bucky to be noticing.

“I’ll trade you for a slice of the cake and a mug of coffee.” He offered, and his voice was too deep for his tiny bird-like body. Bucky wasn’t sure if he was human or not. He could see blue and red lines tattooed up his thin arms, where he’s pushed up the sleeves of his oversized plaid shirt, healing inks, Bucky assumed, so probably human.

“Deal.” He said after a moment. “Scram.”

* * *

 

An hour later, Bucky was drifting pleasantly between awake and asleep, a whole pot of coffee and two slices of banana cake in his belly. Across from him, in the other (less comfortable) couch, the little blond was reading a newspaper without much interest, headphones on the table and a second pot of terrible coffee between them. Pepper had come back around Bucky’s third mug, so they’d got a refill as she did a little tour of the room, making sure Tony hadn’t pissed off anyone too bad, before she sat herself behind the counter and listened to Tony talk animatedly about whatever he’d been working on. Mid-way through his enthusiastic description, all the lights in the room dimmed dangerously.

Grabbing a broom, Pepper banged on the floor three times, hard. Bucky (who’d seen this before) watched as the loud thumps caused the little blond to jerk on reflex, almost spilling his lukewarm coffee all over him. “Bruce.” Bucky explained, shrugging when the lights got brighter. “Troll in the basement, bit of a genius but he fucks the electrics sometimes.”

“Right.” The smaller man agreed, glancing over at Pepper and Tony, who hadn’t even paused in his eagerness to tell Pepper what he was working on. After a pause, he blinked. “A troll?”

“Yeah. Bruce. He’s nice.” Bucky said, pouring himself another coffee from the mug. It stayed warm, which was one of the reasons that he liked Starks. The Pixie had a personal vendetta against cold coffee. “Want some?”

“Thanks.” The other man smiled, pushing his chipped Starbucks mug over. “Steve Rogers, I just opened the tattoo place over the road. I specialise in healing inks.”

“Nice.” Bucky nodded. “I’m a sex therapist, James Barnes – only my clients call me that though.” He smiled. “Bucky to everyone else.”

He watched as Steve’s eyes flicked over his body and smiled when the other man blushed. “Really?”

“Yup.” Bucky said, popping the ‘p’ with a smirk. “How’d you get into inks?”

“Bad heart.” Steve said, and Bucky nodded, he might not be an expert, but the lines working their way up the skinny mans’ arms spoke of some serious work. “I just… started looking into it more… and then…”  He shrugged. “Just kinda happened. What about you? How did you get into your line of work?”

Bucky noticed that he avoiding using the words ‘Sex’ and ‘therapist’ which made him smile. “Seemed like one of those things I was made for.” Bucky shrugged. “Incubus.”

“Oh,” Steve said, blushing even harder. “Right. Okay.”

The thing was, Bucky knew that the stereotypes surrounding non-humans were there for a reason, despite the wide ranging interests of his species. Bucky hadn’t ever seen a porno that wasn’t almost entirely made up of succubae, he’d never been in a strip club where the dancers weren’t made up of sirens or incubi. They had a reputation (well deserved, of course, after all, they needed sex to  ** _live_** ) but still… “I went to NYU.” He pointed out. “Mostly it’s couples going through a hard time – it’s easier to talk to me about stuff like sex, because they know I’m not going to judge them.”

Steve nodded, and took a drink of his coffee. “Makes sense.” He grinned. “Sam – we opened the shop together, he’s a fairy – gets all kinds of people assuming things about him.”

“Pretty unusual to see one in a city like this.” Bucky agreed. “He must love you a lot.”

“Well, yeah… no, wait, I mean… no. Yes, he does! But he has a girlfriend. He’s not gay. I’m gay, he’s not. Not that… um…” He stopped talking, looking like he wanted the lump couch to swallow him whole. “Never mind.”

Shit, but Steve was cute when he blushed, and Bucky was reminded that he’d actually been a very long time without companionship. Sex was one thing, but finding someone who you actually wanted to spend more time with? Not in a long while. However, he was also aware that his species had a reputation – love em and leave em – which meant that Steve might just be looking at Bucky like a one night stand. Natasha’s words were echoing in his head still, he deserved more, better. Rather than throw out a line that would in all likelihood end up with Steve in his bed, Bucky smiled his blandest smile.

“Does Sam do healing ink too, or something else?”

* * *

 

Stark’s coffee shop was normally pretty empty. The service, the bad coffee, the lumpy, worn out couches and the overall shabbiness of the place kept most away – Tony preferred that. It left him free to work on his inventions, the man made a fortune with his mechanised charms – the coffee shop was just something he did because Pepper liked it.

However, it did have its regulars, people like Bucky who didn’t care that Tony couldn’t be bothered to serve them, who made their own coffee and had their own mugs stashed under the counter.

Bucky had gotten used to seeing the same faces through the years: Maria Hill who was probably human, and who worked on her laptop with her feet propped up on the table in front of her, Clint, who slept soundly in the corner and occasionally had a pizza delivered if he was hungry. There was Bruce, who lived and worked in the basement, and a blacksmith called Thor who made swords and daggers, whose brother enchanted them and their girlfriends who worked with the stars and mapped out the future.

And now, of course, Steve.

Steve who would share Bucky’s pot of coffee and buy extra slices of cake, Steve who looked at him shyly, like he wasn’t quite sure if his smiles would be welcome.

Steve who Bucky wanted to taste every inch of, and Steve who never so much as hinted at being interested in more.

* * *

 

“You’re pining.” Natasha said, after the last of their clients left. Bucky was struggling with the Smiths. They thought that he was supposed to ‘cure’ them – and didn’t want to work through their issues ** _together_**.

“I am not.” He muttered, looking over his notes. He had three more meetings with clients and although he loved his job, sometimes he wished he could just… he let out a groan. “I’ve got the Fitz-Simmons in half an hour.”

“They’re adorable.”

“They’re  ** _killing_**  me. I’ve never met a married couple with so many hang-ups in my life.” He said, putting down his notes. “You up for a coffee later?”

Natasha rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I wouldn’t set foot in Starks if you paid me. It’s a dive.” She paused. “It’s not even a dive. It’s what happens once a dive gets  ** _worse_**.” A few seconds passed when she busied herself filing her notes into the locked cabinets they shared. “Don’t think I missed the deflection there, James. You’re pining.”

“I’m an incubus. Pining in my natural state of being.”

“And I’m a Valkyrie and you don’t see me singing mezzo-soprano and rocking braids, do you?” She paused. “You don’t pine. I’ve known you for years, and this is a new look for you.”

He was saved by the Fitz-Simmons arriving early, holding hands, which was nice, and looking a little bashful about it, which was better. He seriously hoped at least  ** _someone_**  was getting laid.

* * *

 

Three weeks of sitting across a low coffee table from each other seemed a weird sort of friendship, but Bucky was pretty sure that they had a friendship, of sorts. Bucky would pick up two mugs when he fixed his coffee, Steve used one plate but piled it high with cake slices and cookies if they were there. Sometimes Steve would talk to Tony, and he’d say things – look over at Bucky and smile a little, an invite to join in. Bucky tried his best, but in the end, most of their interactions were of silent. It was nice though, he thought, nice to have someone he liked who seemed to like him back for something other than sex. Even if Bucky kinda wished that sex was on the table.

* * *

 

“You look like death.” Tony said, as Bucky yawned in his face. “Fresh outta brains?”

“Not a zombie.” Bucky managed, before another yawn threatened to dislocate his jaw. He knew he smelt slightly of sulphur, even after his shower, but he had a full book of appointments starting in a few hours and he really needed some coffee. “What you got that’s strong?”

“I got coffee so strong you can stand your spoon in it.” Tony said, looking smug. “But maybe that aint what ails ya.”

After a few moments of Bucky staring at him, unblinking, Tony caved.

“You need to get  ** _laid_** , boyo. You reek of sulphur.” Behind him, Bucky heard someone drop something, a clatter of a mug against the table. “You break it, you buy it.” Tony said, without thinking.

“It’s not broken.” Steve muttered, just loud enough for them to hear, sounding grumpy and put out.

“He brought it with him anyway,” Bucky pointed out; glad the conversation was twisting away from his non-existent sex life. “Unless you started buying mugs with ‘ink is art’ on them?”

“I might have.” Tony said, shrugging. “You don’t know I didn’t.”

* * *

 

After getting his coffee (just as strong as Tony promised, too) he almost collapsed into his usual spot. His job was exhausting sometimes, and the general lack of sex in his diet was resulting in him burning up a little through the night. Enough that people were starting to tell. It didn’t happen much, mostly because a lot of people were willing to trade the best sex of their lives for a bit of a headache the next day, and Bucky was well aware that he looked good enough that people wanted to sleep with him before they even knew what he was, but recently…

He glanced over at Steve…

Recently, he just hadn’t been in the mood for a random hook-up.

Steve was glaring at his coffee mug (which had survived the fall) and had so far refused to eat the slices of cake that Bucky had picked up. He’d rolled up his oversized shirt sleeves, and Bucky could see the healing ink running up his thin arms – knew from a google search (he was bored, okay, bored, it wasn’t stalkerish) that the red and blue lines followed specific veins under the skin, and they could improve circulation, stamina – and in most cases were more effective than surgery. Steve had two arms liberally covered in ink, and Bucky assumed that he was once very ill. He also had a few white lines mixed across his arms, looking far too neat to be scars – and new too, going on the raised look of them. Those, Bucky hadn’t a clue about, but healing inks weren’t his area, and asking seemed intrusive.

“You okay?” He asked, after watching Steve glare at his mug for longer than normal. “I’m pretty sure whatever your coffee did to you, it was an accident.”

That, at least, seemed to snap Steve out of his funk – he looked up at Bucky and blinked. “Sorry… was… thinking.”

“Yeah? Busy day ahead?”

“Got a couple of frat boys who think that a couple of lines of hoodoo script on their dicks’ll make em bigger,” Steve said, after a few seconds. “I’ve spent the last two weeks telling them that is doesn’t work like that, and they aren’t listening.”

Bucky didn’t mean to laugh, but he did. The idea of Steve, tiny, gorgeous Steve, tattooing some dudes dick was weirdly hilarious. “Do they know it’s gonna hurt like hell?”

“Oh, they think they’ll manage through it. The hardest part,” He carried on, ignoring Bucky’s snort of laughter, “Is that they’re more concerned about the lack of sex till the ink heals up.” Steve sighed. “They’re due in half an hour.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better,” Bucky said, pushing the plate of cake towards the skinny guy. “You’ve made my day.”

“I’m glad my misfortunes make you happy.”

“Dude, you’re going to be spending the morning sticking needles into a dudes dick while he tries not to cry. I mean, that’s fantastic.”

* * *

 

 The club was packed. Which was great. Already, Bucky could smell the scent of desperation and need perk him up a little. Natasha had insisted that they go out after their hellish day – a couple of drinks down and Bucky could tell that her plan was a good one. Already he was feeling better, a little tipsy, a little high off the smell of desire.

On the floor, he could see various shapes, some human, some not, grinding along to the music. Natasha had found one of her ‘sisters’ and was currently drinking mead so strong that they’d been carded at the bar to ensure that no one died. By the end of the night they’d be singing songs and trying to kill one another – good naturedly, of course, but no less deadly.

Bucky was prowling along the edge of the dancefloor, he’d spotted a short blond guy on the floor and wasn’t looking too hard at his motives for seeking out  ** _that_**  particular guy, when someone touched his shoulder.

They guy was tall, really good looking, with soft brown eyes and a killer smile – but the first thing that Bucky noticed were the wings. His shirt had been designed to accommodate them, and even though they were furled up behind him, they were still pretty fucking impressive. He had glitter around his eyes.

“You wouldn’t be Bucky, would you?” He asked, and for one long instant, Bucky wondered if he’d ever fucked a fairy – until he realised…

“You must be Sam, right?”

The answering smile was amazing, white teeth flashing in the dim lighting. “Man, I thought it had to be you, you here alone? Steve’s at the bar. Come sit by us!”

* * *

 

Bucky had just been introduced to Sam’s girlfriend, a stunning blond human with a megawatt smile, as “Bucky, you know?  _Steve’s_  Bucky?” and a meaningful look, when the man in question appeared through the crowd. He was carrying a couple of beers and had a lipstick smear over his cheekbone and Bucky was  ** _really_**  trying not to think about someone kissing Steve. “Bucky?” He asked, looking between Sam and Bucky like he wasn’t sure if he was happy to see either of them. “Uh, hi.”

Bucky managed a grin and a casual greeting in return. Somewhere on the dancefloor was a short blond who probably wouldn’t be looking at Bucky like he’d just kicked a fucking puppy, which was what Steve was looking at him like.

“Steve tells us you’re a sex therapist?” Sam said when the silence started to get a little thin. “I bet you’ve got some stories, man!”

The idea that Steve told his friend, his **_best_** friend, about Bucky’s job was interesting. “Well, one or two, but you know… can’t really say much.” He paused. “It’s not like I spend the day tattooing dicks or anything.”

* * *

 

An hour later, Bucky had hard more embarrassing stories about Steve Rogers than he was ever likely to hear about anyone else. Sam seemed to think that Steve’s obvious discomfort was hilarious, and the harder Steve blushed, the more outrageous the stories got. It turned out that Steve spent more time touching dicks than most people Bucky knew.

“I swear to Oberon, it’s like everyone in the city found out about this talented little shit, and wanted him to work his magic on em. Steve, Steve, tell Bucky about the  ** _Ogre_**.”

“I don’t-”

“So this ogre comes in, right?” Sam started, completely running over whatever argument that Steve was about to make, “And as soon as he sees Steve, he’s all…” Sam puffs out his chest, swaggering on the spot, “ _Dis one he mine!_ ”

“Oh god.” Steve said, turning away from them, face burning. “Please do not do this to me.”

“And then he just,” Sam makes a motion of pulling down his jeans. “Dick out. Middle of the shop.”

Bucky laughed. It was hard not to. Ogres were… well… not particularly subtle at the best of times, and Steve wasn’t the biggest dude in the world.

“It was bigger than my leg.” Steve shuddered, not making eye contact with anyone.

“Massive.” Sam agreed, before grabbing his chest and laughing like he was gonna die. “I thought I was gonna  ** _die_**. Funniest shit I’ve seen in  ** _years_**.”

* * *

 

In the end, Sam and his girlfriend – Bucky couldn’t remember her name – slipped off while Bucky and Steve were trying to hold a conversation.

“I’m really sorry Sam ruined your night.” Steve said, once they realised that they were alone. “He’s a great guy, but sometimes he’s a bit… much.”

Bucky was a little confused. “Didn’t ruin my night,” He said, after a beat. “Why’d you think that?”

Steve blushed again, something he’d been doing a lot, and Bucky liked it. He liked the way that the colour got high in his cheeks, liked the way that it sped up his heartbeat, just loud enough for Bucky to feel the vibrations. A lot of people around them were throwing out hormones, and Bucky was starting to feel high on their desires.

“Well, you know.” Steve said, waving a hand vaguely. “Aren’t you here to… um… feed?”

Bucky remembered the blond on the dancefloor, who paled in comparison to the blond in front of him. “Nah. Just had a bad day at work.” He said, which was mostly true. “Just liked the idea of a couple of beers and a bit of dancing.”

“You wanna dance?” Steve asked, after downing his beer. He didn’t wait for Bucky to say anything in return, just walked with purpose towards the floor.

* * *

 

Bucky liked dancing. More specifically, Bucky liked **_grinding_**. Grinding was the best, sex with clothes on. It had started off pretty chaste, too, Steve keeping some distance between them, but the floor was packed and Bucky wasn’t particularly fond of making room for Jesus – he stepped forward and pulled Steve a little closer.

Grinding was the **_best_**.

He could feel his eyes adjusting to the darkness, feel the prickle of sweat on his skin, the scent of a horny Incubus hard to disguise – people around them were drawing closer without even realising it, pushing Steve closer into the hard lines of Bucky’s body.

Grinding was the best.

Steve was swaying, mostly to the beat, and although Bucky wouldn’t ever call him a good dancer, he was certainly enjoying the feel of Steve’s smaller body against his. Hardly any space between them, and Bucky was starting to become aware of a few things.

Firstly, there was no way Steve wasn’t aware that he was pressing up against an Incubus. Secondly, he knew said Incubus (Bucky) hadn’t gotten laid in a while – long enough to start sweating sulphur in his sleep. Thirdly, the Incubus he was pressing up against was totally into him.

He might not be an Ogre, but Bucky wasn’t embarrassed about what he was packing in his pants, and Steve was swaying those narrow hips up against Bucky’s obvious interest in the proceedings.

Other people too, were starting to press in, lust and desires filling Bucky up like a sponge – when Steve looked over his shoulder, Bucky’s feral grin and night blacked eyes were obvious.

“Wanna get out of here?” The smaller man asked, and Bucky nodded.

* * *

 

Bucky woke up feeling like he could take on the world. Steve was snoring slightly, face smushed up against Bucky’s bicep, drooling a little. Bucky didn’t give a shit. He could see the tattooed lines that worked all the way over Steve’s body – heart lines and bloodlines, stamina inks and a few charms he couldn’t quite place but looked a little Fay, perhaps. God damn, Bucky was going to spend a long time mapping out each thin line with his tongue. The whole room reeked of good sex, satisfaction and a smugness that might have been Steve, because **_damn_**.

Bucky might have been made for sex, but Steve was **_made for sex_**. He grinned, wolfish. Oh yeah, Steve Rogers rocked his world, and the little shit knew it.

Carefully, trying not to wake Steve, who would need another couple of hours sleep after Bucky kept him up (ha, he laughed at his own joke) most of the night, Bucky slid out of bed.

His apartment was nice, he earned enough that he wasn’t living in a shoebox and he looked after himself and his things, so he’d been more than happy for Steve to go to his place. It also meant that he knew exactly what was in the fridge and what he could make for breakfast.

He showered before heading through to the kitchen, wearing a pair of workout pants that made his ass look amazing because he wasn’t ruling out more sex later, once Steve had gotten something to eat.

He was flipping pancakes expertly (He made a killer breakfast) when he heard Steve wake up. He figured that’s what the ‘thump’ of a small body hitting the floor was, at least.

“Hey, you can eat first or have a shower.” He called out, grabbing the last of the batter. “But I’ve got bacon under the grill and I’m not sure how you like your eggs, so...”

“I should go.”

Bucky turned. Steve was already pulling on his shirt, covering up those tattoos Bucky had planned to map out in great detail later. His socks were on, and he was looking around for his shoes. They were by the door, put neatly there by Bucky as he’d picked up and folded their strewn clothing after his shower.

Of course.

He’d been stupid to think that it was more that a one night thing. Steve hadn’t shown any interest at all in Bucky until the club – and Bucky was aware that they’d had a couple of beers, enough maybe for Steve not to care so much about sleeping with the guy he knew from a coffee shop.

Of course.

“Yeah, cool.” Bucky said, grinning even though he didn’t feel much like smiling. Steve wasn’t the first guy to leave before breakfast, and he probably wouldn’t be the last, lots of people wanted to sleep with guys like him. “Uh, your shoes are in the hall.” He turned back to the ‘just had great sex’ pancake in the pan and flipped it. Perfect and round.

Bucky could make a great breakfast.

Afterall, he had a lot of practice.

“Thanks.” Steve said, sounding... strained. “Uh, look...”

Bucky  expertly added the pancake to the pile he’d already made, and reached out for the last of the batter. Great, now he was going to end up with too many leftovers **_and_** the ‘it just wont work out’ speech.

He could hear Steve take a deep breath. Here goes.

“Look, I’m sorry if I took advantage of the situation last night, I know it wasn’t fair of me to do that. I just... I’m really sorry. It was a shitty thing to do.” Steve said, words tumbling fast and strained. “I know you’re not looking for anything else, so... I’m just... I’m gonna go.”

Bucky  poured the mixture into the pan. “Sure.” He agreed. He was still smiling. “I get it, it’s cool.” A shrug of his shoulder, casual. Bucky was great as casual.

“So you’re not mad?”

“Mad?” Bucky said, grinning at the pan. “Why would I be mad?” He turned to look over his shoulder at Steve, who was biting his lip. The night before, Bucky had done that – it had caused Steve to whine into his mouth. “You aint the first guy looking to get his rocks off with someone like me.” He pointed out, and shit, he knew that came out a little too bitter. “It’s totally cool, Steve.” He said, grinning again. His face was starting to hurt from the strain.

“No, it’s not like that!” Steve said, looking like he was going to take a step forward and then changing his mind. “Look, I know you’re not into me like that, I’m sorry, okay? You just... you just...” Steve stopped, ran his long fingers through his hair and let out a sigh. “Look, I knew last night that you hadn’t fed in a while, and I’ve been crushing on you since you kicked me out of your stupid spot at Starks and I’m sorry I took advantage of you like that.” A pause. “I’m really not an asshole.”

Bucky flipped the pancake.

“You should stay for breakfast.” He said, after a few seconds of Steve not saying anything else. “Cause I think we might need to actually talk to one another here.”

Jesus Christ.

* * *

 

“You two look disgustingly happy.” Tony said, as Steve piled a single plate high with cake slices as Bucky fixed up a pot of coffee behind the counter. “Pepper, tell them to stop.”

“Hush.” Pepper said, handing Bucky over two mugs. “They can be happy if they like.” She smiled.

“They smell like sex.” Tony carried on complaining, as though he hadn’t heard Pepper speak. “ ** _Still_**. It’s been months. No one has that much sex.”

“Maybe you don’t.” Steve said, balancing another slice of cake on top of his already teetering plate.

“You will **_not_** respond to that.” Pepper said, the instant Tony opened his mouth to reply. “I will set you on fire.”

Bucky laughed at Tony’s expression.

“Man, you were the one who married a phoenix.” He said, bussing a kiss on Peppers cheek as he carried the pot of coffee and the mugs over to their couch.

The couch, it turned out, could be moulded in just the right way that both of them could slouch down together. Sure, they had to wriggle a little bit, and maybe sometimes a stray spring would poke at Buck’s thigh, but it was worth it when Steve, belly full of cake and bad coffee, dozed against him, smelling like sex and smugness.

So worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> The coffee shop AU no one asked for.
> 
> sorry for the HUGE gap in updated, but it's been INSANE here.
> 
> Mum was taken into hospital (she's okay now, but I did CPR. Like an adult. Who SAVES PEOPLE)
> 
> And I bought a house.
> 
> And I got a pension.
> 
> So like... stuff was going on.
> 
> Anyway: the prompt for this was: You're sitting in my seat. I want you to move.
> 
> Hope you like it (and if you don't, I promise you won't have to wait as long for the next one, kay?)


End file.
